


Highlights

by sifuhotman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Time Skip, Sex, Sexual Tension, honestly half of it is just sexual tension this got so out of hand i'M SORRY?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28369269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/pseuds/sifuhotman
Summary: It takes Atsumu three beers over the course of a two hour dinner—give or take a year of unbearable sexual tension—to decide that he’s going to have sex with Sakusa.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 25
Kudos: 444
Collections: Team MSBY Black Jackal Haikyuu, haikyuu fics i’ve read!!





	Highlights

It takes Atsumu three beers over the course of a two hour dinner—give or take a year of unbearable sexual tension—to decide that he’s going to have sex with Sakusa. 

This is, of course, not a decision he takes lightly, since it has potentially disastrous consequences, both personal and professional. There’s kind of an unwritten rule about dating in V. League, though Kageyama and Hinata broached the taboo subject when they started making out in the middle of the court after a match. Not that he and Sakusa would be dating or anything. 

However, Miya Atsumu is not someone willing to sabatoge their team’s performance for a quick fuck, nor is he willing to put himself through the wringer of having to see an ex-one-night-stand every day that follows. 

But something about Sakusa pushing his curls out of his face, flushed cheeks under the deep lights of the izakaya, tongue tracing the side of his sake glass to catch a few loose drops. One leg slotted between Atsumu's under the table. Something about this imagery goes straight from Atsumu’s eyes to the worst parts of his brain that begin to imagine Sakusa with the same expression, in a different light, in different circumstances, doing very, very different things. 

So Atsumu decides he’s going to have sex with him. 

It’s wildly inappropriate and naughty and ridiculous, because they’re at a dinner with their teammates. Not all of them are mentally there—Bokuto has begun to drunkenly dial Akaashi and Meian looks one second away from passing out with his forehead in his half-eaten bowl of rice—but still. It’s inappropriate. And naughty. And ridiculous. 

And Atsumu wants it. 

He tests out pressing one of his legs back against the inside of Sakusa’s calf. He is both thrilled and afraid when Sakusa doesn’t pull away, and when Sakusa glances over at Atsumu, he maintains eye contact, and so does Sakusa. When Sakusa’s other leg encloses Atsumu’s, eye contact never breaking, Atsumu confirms that Sakusa has made his decision as well. At least, he thinks he has.

More importantly, Atsumu can’t shake the feeling that he’s about to pop a boner right now over playing footsie, which is an incredibly embarrassing fact in it of itself, but he’ll have to reflect on that later, because right now all Atsumu can think about is Sakusa’s leg inching forward. His knee hovers dangerously close to Atsumu’s crotch.

Atsumu’s breath catches. He’s not drunk, and he almost wishes he could use drunkenness as an excuse for why he’s so horny.

But if this is going to happen, and if he's really going to have sex with Sakusa, then holy _shit_ does Atsumu want to remember all of it. 

“I think I'm gonna head home,” Atsumu says. He tries and fails to cover up the tightness in his voice. No one seems to notice, with the exception of Sakusa, whose eyes flicker to Atsumu’s lips.

“Eh?” Hinata looks up at him with wide eyes so shiny and adorable that Atsumu strongly considers taking it back. “You're not gonna come to karaoke with us?”

“Nah,” Atsumu pulls his wallet out from his pocket to take out some bills. “I have to wake up early tomorrow—promised Samu I'd go with him to pick up his rice from Kita.”

“Aw.” Hinata looks disappointed, but his mood flips when he says, “Could you grab a bag for me, too?”

“’Course.” Atsumu tosses the yen on the table. “I’ll buy ya five bags.”

Sakusa stands at the same time he does. “I’ll tag along.” How he manages to keep a level voice, Atsumu has no idea. “We can split the cab.”

“Sure.” Even though Atsumu had been expecting Sakusa to follow, it still shocks him to some degree that he actually does.

The aforementioned sexual tension has been particularly palpable for the past several months. For a while, Atsumu thought it was entirely in his head and the result of being so incredibly not-getting-laid that he’d begun to look for _anything_ with _anyone._

He was looking for a quick fuck, he’d reasoned. An easy release, something to take the edge off of all the stress that comes with being a professional volleyball player. But even after one night stands, even after repeat hookups, and even after jerking off whenever the mood hit him, Atsumu had come to accept the fact that whatever sexual fever his body worked himself into was entirely related to the slender, curly-haired spiker on his team.

He’s been waiting for a direct sign that Sakusa wanted it, too. He’s even done digging around into Sakusa’s dating history—courtesy of Komori—to see if there’s a reason to stop looking. According to Komori, Sakusa seems to have some semblance of casual dating going on in his personal life, but he doesn’t talk about it much, so it must not be serious. The only thing that seems serious is the bedroom eyes Sakusa gives him.

Before, Atsumu thought it was just Sakusa and his intensity. That’s just his personality, anyway: always serious, always intense. It’s no secret that, out of all the members of the MSBY Black Jackals, Atsumu is most likely to be the one that gets punched in the face for something he said, and that Sakusa is most likely to be the one that does the punching. So Atsumu thought that all those lingering looks, unflinching and intimidating, were because Sakusa wanted to punch him.

It’s only when Adriah made an off-handed comment about how the desire to fight and fuck were the two most animalistic responses of humans that Atsumu reacalculated. Maybe he was mistaken, and Sakusa’s expression was out of desire to fuck, not fight.

The confirmation came weeks later when Atsumu bent down to tie his shoe and saw—in the reflection of the wide mirrors in the Black Jackals’ locker room—Sakusa was totally checking out his ass.

It wasn’t in a casual ‘nice ass’ type of way, either. 

It was in a _‘nice ass_ ’, type of way.

Once he started noticing it, Atsumu couldn’t stop. Noticing. Noticing how Sakusa’s gaze would drift and trace down Atsumu’s legs, coast along the contours of his shoulders, dip from his navel to Atsumu’s, um, _area_. Atsumu isn’t stupid; he’s an Olympic athlete, for crying out loud—of course he has a body people might want to look at.

But the thing is, Sakusa doesn’t do that kind of stuff with the other members, who are arguably just as aesthetically pleasing as Atsumu, if not more. Sakusa’s eyes don’t ogle Bokuto’s pectorals nor do they burn holes through the butt of Hinata’s jeans. Which leads Atsumu to believe that Sakusa Kiyoomi is attracted to him.

That doesn’t mean that sex is guaranteed, but it _does_ mean that the option is maybe a little bit more possible than it was before.

The cab ride back to the Black Jackals-sponsored complex is silent. Sakusa stares out the window, and Atsumu tries not to psyche himself out over this. If nothing happens, then nothing happens, and Atsumu can make do with his right hand for the night. He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again, as many times as he has to.

Atsumu clambers out of the back of the cab with about as much finesse as a middle schooler at their first dance. Sakusa gets out with such elegance and ease that Atsumu kind of wants to see what would happen if he shoved him onto his ass on the curb. And then his mind goes to the idea of making out on the curb, which leads to other activities on the curb, and—

And Sakusa is staring at him on the sidewalk, face illuminated only by the lamps lighting the entrance to the lobby. 

“Miya,” he says. 

“Are ya comin’ in?” Atsumu clears his throat, which gets caught about midway through the sentence, embarrassingly enough. “Or are ya just gonna stand there and look pretty?”

The very edges of Sakusa’s very pretty lips flicker up, just slightly. “Coming in where, exactly?”

Atsumu’s mouth runs dry. “Inside.”

“I see.” Sakusa combs his fingers through his hair, which has gotten considerably messier as the day’s trekked on. It’s absolutely devastating how wonderful he looks, and Atsumu wants nothing more than to see just how more undone Sakusa can become. “Are you inviting me in, Miya?”

“Depends. Are ya invitin’ yerself in?”

Sakusa takes a step towards him, and Atsumu feels his chest tighten. “I guess I am, then.”

It would be so easy, placing a fat kiss on Sakusa’s mouth right now, but Atsumu isn’t sure if he’ll have the self-control to not get too grabby the moment it happens, so he says, “My apartment.”

Sakusa nods and they walk with Atsumu half a step ahead of him. With every pace closer to his apartment, Atsumu does everything in his power to control the growing pressure on his groin. The moment he’s at his door, fumbling for his keys, a thick presence comes up behind him, and before Atsumu can process what’s even happening, Sakusa’s mouth exhales against the bare skin of Atsumu’s neck. Atsumu shivers and almost drops the keys on the ground. Unlocking a door should not be this hard.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs. His arms are lifted, hands propped against the doorway, caging Atsumu in, and Atsumu thinks, you know, if he were to die, right here, right now, this wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. “Do you need help with the door?”

“Nah, I got it. I—it’s rusty. I’ve been meaning to get the key polished and—” Atsumu bites back a curse when Sakusa’s torso presses against his back. It dissolves into a gasp when Sakusa’s lips gently graze the delicate skin where Atsumu’s jaw meets his neck.

Atsumu finally wrenches the door open and stumbles over the shoes haphazardly thrown about by the door, and he barely has time to hang his key on the hook in the hallway before Sakusa makes a grab for him. Atsumu stiffens, both from anticipation and from a stunned disbelief that this is actually happening.

He turns his head away from Sakusa’s lips, effectively dodging him, and shrugs off his coat. Atsumu gestures at Sakusa to do the same, who heaves a huff of air in frustration. 

“Gimme yer coat first,” Atsumu says, and Sakusa complies, taking a moment to kick off his shoes as well. Atsumu leads them to his bedroom, where he busies himself looking for a spare coat hanger. As he’s zipping up the jackets over the hanger and placing them on the rack, he has approximately fifteen seconds to decide if he’s really going to do this.

The past five minutes alone have felt like some sort of fever dream, or maybe wet dream, and Atsumu can feel his jeans beginning to tighten. When Atsumu glances behind him and sees Sakusa sitting on the edge of his bed, he decides that, yes, he’s going to do this.

There’s no going back. 

Atsumu flicks on the dim lamp he purchased specifically to set the mood for having people over for sex and casually asks, “D’ya need water or anything? Bathroom?”

Sakusa stares at him with disdain. Or maybe it’s desire. Probably a bit of both.

“I take that as a no.”

“Are you going to have sex with me or not?” Sakusa asks, and Atsumu almost chokes on air.

“I _knew_ ya wanted to fuck.”

“What gave it away?” Sakusa says, sarcastic as ever, never one to miss out on a perfect quip. Atsumu allows it, because 1. he has no choice, and 2. it’s kind of sexy. “You’re about as thick-headed as a cow.”

Atsumu lets the remark slide and instead allows himself to drink in Sakusa’s appearance. It’s self-indulgent, but Atsumu doesn’t care. All those stolen glances during games and team outings cannot compare to what it’s like to stare openly with Sakusa with the same amount of desire that he returns back. Atsumu wants to memorialize this moment, with Sakusa’s gaze setting fire to his body, waiting to have sex. It’s a glorious sight.

“Anyone ever toldja yer gorgeous, Omi?” Atsumu blurts, which is stupid, because duh, of course he’s been told that.

The faintest flush crawls its way across his cheeks. “What are you waiting for?”

Atsumu can’t hold it in any longer. He all but dives for Sakusa, hand coming up to tangle themselves in Sakusa’s hair, gratuitously pulling Sakusa’s head towards him.

The moment their lips make contact, all sexual tension from hell breaks loose. Because Sakusa kisses with lethal precision and aggression that’s akin to his ridiculous serves and spikes. His mouth falls open against Atsumu’s, hot and wet and tasting like the sake he drank at dinner, and when his tongue swipes one languid stroke against Atsumu’s, Atsumu thinks that he might just come right then and there.

He doesn’t, of course, although he’s painfully hard already because of the past year of pining, or thirsting, or whatever it is _this_ is, and Atsumu lets himself be greedy. Sakusa’s body is unbelievably warm under his long-sleeve shirt, and Atsumu runs his free hand up the entire length of Sakusa’s arm. His palm rests against Sakusa’s chest, clenching at Sakusa’s shirt when he pulls at Atsumu’s bottom lip with his teeth.

“Off,” Atsumu mumbles. He slides his fingertips under the hem of Sakusa’s shirt and pushes upwards. Sakusa allows him to pull off his shirt before yanking Atsumu by the arms into another mindfucking kiss.

Atsumu breaks it off to press his mouth along Sakusa’s jaw, his neck, the prominent curve of his collarbone. He gets a rise out of Sakusa’s breath catching when Atsumu’s tongue licks at it, just one quick swirl. The thought of giving Sakusa a hickey crosses his mind, and he finds he wants to, but before he can, Sakusa reaches forward and palms at Atsumu through his pants.

“ _Omi_.” It should be embarrassing how it comes out practically as a moan, but Atsumu could not give a single flying fuck. He presses his hips forward, chasing after the tease of friction Sakusa has given him, and groans when Sakusa withdraws his hand away.

“I want you on the bed,” Sakusa murmurs. He tugs at Atsumu’s arm and Atsumu clambers in right after discarding his shirt.

Atsumu is about to allow himself to fall forward horizontally on top of Sakusa, but he stops right when he sees Sakusa gazing up at him. His lips are obscenely pink and slightly parted, and Sakusa looks like he was made for this place, nestled amongst the covers of Atsumu’s bed.

Atsumu cannot believe his fucking luck.

“How do you want to do this?” Atsumu asks, because at least he still has half a sense to talk about it before things begin to go too far.

Sakusa stares up at him, flat and unmoved.

“I just want to make sure that—”

“You’re sabotaging the mood,” Sakusa says.

“On the contrary, I’m tryna preserve the mood.”

Sakusa rubs at his eyes, a pinched expression falling between his brows, as per usual. “I don’t know, Miya. Stop diverting the topic.”

“Excuse me, I ain’t divertin’, and—”

Sakusa promptly shuts Atsumu down when he shifts his legs apart, presses the inside of his thighs snug against Atsumu’s hips, and pulls him closer. His hands come up to grip the back of Atsumu’s neck and Atsumu topples over, falling right on to Sakusa’s mouth.

Atsumu’s had his fair share of kisses along a wide spectrum of characteristics, and if he had to categorize this one, it would be hungry. Because Sakusa kisses like it’s his last night on earth. He doesn’t break away at any point, and he doesn’t let Atsumu pull back, either. His hands don’t wander as much as Atsumu’s do, remaining planted right where the buzz of his undercut meets the sensitive skin of the nape of his neck.

Feeling emboldened by Sakusa’s persistence, Atsumu allows his hands to wander—from Sakusa’s shoulders and following the mouthwatering taper towards the dip of his waist, all the way down to Sakusa’s hips. Sakusa is solid, hot, and right now, he is completely at the expense of Miya Atsumu.

“Is there anything ya don’t want?” Atsumu murmurs. His index finger strokes down the front of Sakusa’s pants, and Sakusa’s breath hitches.

“Not—particularly—”

“Are ya sure?”

“Yes.” Sakusa inhales sharply as Atsumu reaches between them to undo Sakusa’s belt buckle. “I’m sure.”

In response, Atsumu presses a sloppy kiss at Sakusa’s mouth and settles his head against his chest. He thanks his past self for purchasing the mood-lighting lamp, because it bathes Sakusa in a shimmering pattern of golden lights and shadows. 

Atsumu makes quick work then, unzipping Sakusa’s pants and, without any preamble, finally shoves one hand past the waistband of his boxer briefs. Sakusa makes some sort of dying noise as Atsumu’s fingers close around his erection.

“Miya—”

Atsumu nips gently at Sakusa’s shoulder. “Relax, Omi. You’re so tense.”

Sakusa does relax, but he tenses up once more as Atsumu runs his hand, slow and easy, from the base to tip, thumb gently rubbing at the wetness that gathers at the head. Atsumu is most confident in this, because he’s given plenty of hand jobs before and jacked off more times than he can count, but his self-assuredness skyrockets when Sakusa releases the dirtiest moan that Atsumu has only heard in his imagination.

“Do ya touch yerself like this, Omi Omi?”

“Shut up.”

“Do ya think about _me_ when ya touch yerself?”

Sakusa doesn’t respond, but he does toss one arm up over his face to shield his eyes.

If you’d told him, one year ago, that he’d have his hands wrapped around his teammate’s dick while sucking hickeys against his chest, Atsumu would’ve laughed. This may quite possibly be the highlight of his professional volleyball career thus far.

“You look good like this, Omi-kun. Lemme see ya.” Atsumu pulls at Sakusa’s arm to get a better look at his face. Sakusa resists, but only a little. 

His head is tossed back and his chest heaves up and down, legs both falling apart and tensing with every twist of Atsumu’s wrist.

“If—you don’t stop—” Sakusa sounds _delicious_ like this, coming apart at the seams, and Atsumu’s the lucky son of a bitch who gets to witness it, “Then I—I’m gonna—”

“Think ya can finish more than once?”

“...Probably not.”

That’s fair. Considering their erections are identically so hard that it’s almost painful, a byproduct of the past year of sexual tension and ridiculous footsie foreplay.

“Then I’ll try to make it the best orgasm of yer life,” Atsumu says, because he’s competitive as hell, and Sakusa doesn’t fight it. He kisses his way down Sakusa’s torso and shoves his briefs and pants out of the way. Sakusa lifts his head right as Atsumu settles himself between his legs.

Atsumu gets a glimpse of Sakusa’s wild eyes, tongue peeking out of his mouth.

When Atsumu takes Sakusa in his mouth, Sakusa’s head gets tossed right back where it was before. In all honesty, Atsumu doesn’t really like giving blow jobs, but with the uninhibited groans creaking out Sakusa’s throat, Atsumu decides that he doesn’t mind it.

What Sakusa lacks in length he makes up for in girth, and Atsumu experimentally presses his cock against the slick inside of his cheek. Sakusa makes a guttural choking noise and a small drop of pre-cum falls onto Atsumu’s tongue, salty and tangy. If he goes by the way Sakusa responds, tugging at his hair, chest heaving in unconditional surrender, then he's sure he's doing a decent enough job.

Atsumu drags his mouth back, tongue issuing one final swipe against the tip of Sakusa’s dick, and he moves to finally shed himself of the remainder of his clothes. “I wanna be the one to fuck you this time.”

Sakusa, somehow, still has half a mind to lift his head lazily up. “This time?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“I just gave ya a blow job and yer already fresh with me?”

Sakusa’s mouth twists up in a smile that Atsumu rarely sees, and he swallows. Because it’s one thing to be horny for a teammate. It’s another to have a blooming fondness for him.

“It was a good blow job,” Sakusa says, like he’s giving him a performance review and not about to get fucked. “I’ll give you one next time.”

Atsumu opens his mouth to return the remark, but Sakusa has already moved on, hands wrapping gently around Atsumu’s neglected hard-on. His movements are less mechanical than Atsumu’s, less methodical, and he lightly runs up and down his length.

It isn’t by any sense of the word a great hand job, but it’s really doing things for him. Atsumu digs his face into the crook of Sakusa’s neck as his hand reaches toward his bedside table, blindly fumbling around for the lube that’s somewhere in the drawer.

“Do ya want me to—or do ya wanna do it or yerself?” Atsumu asks.

Sakusa pauses. “Do you _want_ me to do it myself?”

The visual of Sakusa fingering himself makes Atsumu’s dick jump up in anticipation. Sakusa must notice, because he tightens his grip. “If ya trust me to, I wanna do it.”

Sakusa blinks up at him. His curls look like a wild nest. “When have I ever made it seem like I wouldn’t trust you?”

Atsumu swallows. He uncaps the bottle of lube, liberally coating his fingers, and Sakusa’s legs fall apart. Atsumu props himself on one elbow when his free hand traces the surface of Sakusa’s sensitive skin.

“Tell me if I’m goin’ too fast,” Atsumu says. 

A sharp intake of a breath when Atsumu slowly presses his finger into Sakusa’s entrance. It takes an incredible amount of self-restraint on his part, because Atsumu wants to be balls deep in him already, but Sakusa takes a long, controlled breath. Once Atsumu’s finger is buried completely, he waits, watching Sakusa with focus, who offers a tight nod. Encouraged that there’s no kicking and screaming yet, Atsumu applies pressure against Sakusa’s wall, dragging along the heat there before pulling back and repeating the motion.

Atsumu works Sakusa with the degree of caution and care that he deserves, relishing every sound he draws out from him. A few minutes and three fingers later, Sakusa’s thighs have begun to tremble, and Atsumu places a sticky kiss in the tragic crease of his hip.

“Condom,” Sakusa gasps when Atsumu withdraws his hand, and Atsumu snatches one from the drawer, ripping the packet with his teeth.

He slides it on, flinching at how sensitive his dick is, flinching at the fresh sensation of how tight Sakusa is on his fingers, and he says a quick prayer in hopes that this won’t literally kill him. Sakusa picks up the lube and squirts some on his palm, messily coating Atsumu’s dick in it. 

Atsumu positions his hips, Sakusa’s erection pressed between them. They’re aligned perfectly, thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, and Atsumu finds that this is the perfect match to be able to lean forward and kiss him. Sakusa doesn’t seem to care about the fact that his dick was just in Atsumu’s mouth, because his lips fall open and his tongue holds nothing back.

Atsumu guides himself towards Sakusa and he pauses once he finds the right position.

Sakusa hitches one leg up and wraps it around Atsumu’s waist. It’s the permission Atsumu needs to press his hips forward.

They move slow at first, because Sakusa winces a bit in pain, gripping at Atsumu’s shoulders, one hand still wet from the lube. Atsumu inches forward until his dick is all but swallowed by Sakusa’s body, and Sakusa angles up his hips once, twice.

Atsumu lingers there, burying his face into the pillow. His breathing is erratic and uncontrolled, and so is Sakusa’s.

He pulls back, surprised to find Sakusa’s dark eyes gazing back at him. It’s incredible, how the tension is still there, even though they’re _literally_ fucking right now, and Atsumu thinks, yeah, he’s the luckiest bastard in the world.

Atsumu begins moving again, hips withdrawing slowly only to come thrusting back forward again. He tucks two hands under Sakusa’s ass—and what a great ass it is—experimenting with angles until he finds the one that gets Sakusa gasping and squirming every time he snaps forward.

“Fuck, Omi.”

Their timing naturally accelerates, gradually at first, but before Atsumu can even process how mind-fucking-blowing it is, he’s already slamming into Sakusa with no shame. Sakusa tugs at the hair at the crown of Atsumu’s hair, occasionally pulling him down for another searing kiss.

This is fairly vanilla compared to the other shit Atsumu has tried, yet for some reason, with Sakusa writhing beneath him, spine curving up to press closer against Atsumu's naked chest, it’s dirty. It’s obscene. 

It’s _hot_.

“I’m gonna come,” Sakusa says breathlessly. Atsumu takes Sakusa’s swollen cock in hand and pumps in rhythm with his thrusts. There’s something incredibly perverse about this, and if Atsumu is destined to lose himself in a life of sin, he hopes that Sakusa joins him.

Sakusa comes quietly, the smallest plea escaping his throat, and Atsumu _feels_ it. He feels the way Sakusa’s dick pulses in his hand, the way his body clenches around Atsumu, still buried to the hilt, and it takes one more thrust for Atsumu to push himself over the edge. His whole body tightens as he grinds himself into the final notes of his orgasm. 

Atsumu collapses, a mess of lube and semen slick between their bodies, but Atsumu doesn’t care. Sakusa doesn’t, either, nor maybe he hasn’t noticed yet. Any lingering tension has evaporated with its wrecked evidence lingering in its wake, and Sakusa looks more relaxed than he’s been in his life.

“Whoa,” Atsumu says from reflex and very little else. “Yer divine, Omi Omi.”

Sakusa lifts up the blanket and shifts to make room for Atsumu to slide off, wincing when their cocks bump into each other. Atsumu snatches a tissue from the nearby box, wiping himself down before cleaning up Sakusa.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Atsumu,” Sakusa responds. Atsumu tosses the dirty tissues to the side and makes a mental note to throw them away later before lazily kissing Sakusa. 

They’re making out in a post-sex haze, and all Atsumu can think about is how Atsumu’s request for _this time_ had been quickly followed Sakusa’s promise for _next time._

“Just so ya know,” Atsumu says, “I totally caught ya checkin’ me out multiple times. Might wanna be a little bit more careful.”

“That was entirely on purpose.” Sakusa pulls back to roll his eyes, but he’s smiling, and Atsumu’s heart jumps in his throat. 

“Really?”

“Yes. It still took you way too long to figure it out.”

“So what’s the verdict?”

“On what?”

“My performance. Was it terrible?”

Sakusa snorts and slaps at Atsumu’s chest lazily to get him to move over as Atsumu watches Sakusa doze off. Atsumu had wanted to remember every detail of having sex with Sakusa, but he realizes, in typical knee-jerk fashion, that he wants to remember this, too. “You _would_ ask for a rating on your sexual performance in bed.”

“Yeah? And? What’s the verdict?”

Sakusa closes his eyes, and settles into a curled position on his side as he mumbles, “Give me time to review your highlights. And maybe give me some new ones. I’ll give you a review later.”

“Is that a promise?”

One eye cracks open. Sakusa considers him, then bobs forward to give Atsumu a chaste kiss. “Yeah.”

Atsumu relaxes back on his pillow, satisfied with his response, and drifts to sleep with the distinct feeling that the best highlights of whatever ‘this’ is have yet to come.


End file.
